


Mr. Esquire

by house_of_lantis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: Summary: Jaded magazine writer Bucky Barnes is assigned to interview Hollywood golden boy and Oscar nominee Steve Rogers. After a string of highly successful box office action flicks as comic book hero Captain America, Steve took a break from the franchise to work on a small indie production where he played a hearing-impaired artist that put him back on the map as a “serious actor.” Bucky has interviewed – and slept with – his share of celebrities. Steve, no doubt, is easy pickings. But the socially awkward actor is uncommonly polite, shy, and more interested in taking Bucky to his favorite Brooklyn galleries or joining in a protest march for LGBTQ rights, than to talk about his film work or his movie star status. Is Steve Rogers just a carefully crafted image, someone who deserves that Oscar for his “aw shucks ma’am” performance, or does Bucky discover that Steve is more than his acting roles?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of my Marvel collection of one-shots (now deleted).

[](https://imgur.com/DsghDTH)

Bucky stared at the email from his best friend for ten minutes before he clicked on the link, wincing and then squinting his eyes, bracing himself for the obnoxious headline and the grainy black-and-white picture.

He leaned close to his computer screen, trying to make out if people could really see that it was Steve Rogers, and Bucky was relieved to find that the two men caught in a hot kiss in the dark, narrow hallway, surrounded by the press of bodies and cigarette smoke wafting in from the back alley door, really could be anyone. There was nothing distinguishing about the tall, wide-shouldered blond and his dark-haired lover.

With a scowl, Bucky wrote a response to Natasha: “Fuck off, that’s not Rogers and that’s certainly not me.”

Less than a minute later, Natasha sent back her reply: “That’s your fucking red star tat on your left arm, dipshit. Besides, you two were seen by multiple witnesses who corroborated the story. It’s trending on Twitter.”

Bucky went back to the article and looked at the picture again – that was indeed his left arm with his fucking tattoo – and he groaned, reading the rest of her email: “He looks like he’d be about a 4. I’m not sure if I’d rate him higher though, without details. A lot of good looking people are terribly disappointing fucks.”

Bucky deleted the email thread all together and shut down his MacBook.

He nearly bit his tongue when his iPhone beeped with a new text message. Bucky picked it up and looked at the screen, the sender was named “Punk” in his contacts list. Bucky made a face and dropped the phone on top of his desk, not bothering to open the text.

***

Two months ago, Bucky had a normal life. He got to travel for his work, met every notable Hollywood player in the game, and slept with his fair share of them as well. It was a good life. Bucky had a reputation for writing fair articles, giving depth and breadth to actors and actresses without them coming off as pretentious insensitive douchebags or over privileged, complaining asshats. He was the senior writer for Film and Entertainment for Esquire Magazine, his inside knowledge of the Hollywood industry was deep and wide, a master at using the right word to prove an actor a sinner or a saint – maybe both all at once. Bucky knew the game; and he played it well with everyone. Even though he was a writer, he knew how to keep his mouth shut and gained enough goodwill to slip into their beds.

And then, Bucky’s editor assigned him to the Steve Rogers interview.

“He’s earned his first Oscar nomination,” Phil Coulson said, hands folded together on top of his desk, an inordinately pleased smile on his lips. “Lucky for us, Mr. Rogers has accepted our request for an interview. We’ll be the first to put him on the cover. I want you to handle it.”

Bucky slouched in the comfortable chair in front of Phil’s desk. He ran his hand through his hair and adjusted his black frame glasses, taking a deep breath. “I heard he’s a bit of a punk.”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle, James,” he said, calling Bucky by his real first name. “You’re the best writer on staff and I think you’ll give him a fair write up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is totally my vanity project!
> 
> Completely inspired by that hilarious GQ interview of Chris Evans. You know the one.

**Adventures in Brooklyn with Captain America**

Written by James B. Barnes

Senior Staff Writer, ESQUIRE MAGAZINE

 

Forget everything you’ve ever heard of Steve Rogers.

Let me start with this: I swear that I went into this interview thinking that it was going to be easy-peasy; just another celebrity fluff piece. Like so many of his Hollywood contemporaries before him who had jumped on the soapbox to express their angst or tout their latest pet projects, what new perspective could he bring to the masses that we haven’t already heard of before? Except Steve Rogers was notoriously shy about giving interviews outside of the press that he did, under contract, for his work. There were a lot of rumors, speculation, and misconceptions about him: he was standoffish, he was arrogant, he suffered from severe social anxiety, he was paranoid and delusional, he hated talking about himself, he thought he was above doing interviews, he thought all reporters were scum, he had a horrible fill-in-the-blank experience with an interviewer and refused to do them now without a legion of legal eagle bodyguards, and when he hit the A-List, he didn’t feel like he needed to explain himself to anyone.

All of it was untrue.

Steve Rogers was dressed in a non-descript pair of khaki pants, burgundy tee-shirt, and navy jacket. He wore a baseball cap pulled down low. He had asked to meet at the Brooklyn Gallery Museum where he showed me his favorite art exhibits; then lunch in a Brooklyn hole-in-the-wall diner; and a walk through Prospect Park where Steve unexpectedly joined a non-permitted LGBTQ rally.

All in all, I never considered that the day long interview with the uncommonly polite box office movie star ended with the two of us getting arrested and spending two hours in jail.

***

Okay, back up: Steve Rogers grew up in a rough tenement suburb of Brooklyn, the only son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. It was a long way from his multi-million mansion in Hollywood Hills. He was short and skinny with a host of medical ailments. When he was 12, he nearly died from pneumonia; but like the origin story of the superhero that he portrayed on the big screen, Steve Rogers wasn’t going to let a little thing like near-death keep him from fighting for what he believes was right.

Steve Rogers, 27 years old, had all-American clean cut good looks, and an “aw-shucks, yes ma’am” demeanor that doesn’t seem fake or off-putting. He was genuinely wholesome (I’ve heard people call him “boring”) and painfully sincere (I felt like a douchebag, like what was I doing with my life). When we first met outside the Brooklyn Gallery, Steve looked me in the eyes and shook my hand with a firm but not overpowering macho grip. He called me “Mr. Barnes.” I laughed in his face. See what I mean that I felt like a douchebag in the face of that kind of, for lack of a better word, niceness.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to do that. I was just a little surprised by it and didn’t know if you meant to be patronizing or just nice,” I said, actually apologetic.

“Yeah, I am nice. I try to be polite. My mother said that manners didn’t cost anything; and when you grow up poor, manners is the last line of defense between living like a human being and failing the social contract,” Steve said, earnestly.

OK, seriously, who says things like that? For the past six years, that earnestness and brilliant toothpaste commercial smile have helped him rise above the usual caricature of the superhero to where Steve Rogers has reached iconic levels as Captain America.

“It was a fantastic role. I don’t think anyone could play a role like Cap over six years and eight movies and not walk away with some of his ideals finding their way into your everyday life.”

“Is it a burden to carry it off the set?”

Steve grinned and shook his head. “That’s never a burden.”

As we walked through the modern impressionist exhibit, Steve talked about getting his start in high school drama club, classes at Brooklyn Community College, and working in local acting gigs. Before his late-puberty growth spurt, Steve took on teen roles that played on his youthful looks and stature. And when he started working with a nutritionist and trainer, he began strength training and adding on more muscle. He transferred to The Julliard School on scholarship and used his New York contacts to get an agent, his SAG card, and steady work in TV commercials, indie movies, and his breakthrough role as Captain America.

“We’d been searching for the right actor to play the part and probably auditioned over 1,500 actors internationally, and then we met Steve, but he didn’t have a lot of experience in film at the time, however he had a certain type of natural charisma that combined confidence, sincerity, and really lovely manners,” said director, Joe Johnston. “The studios liked him, but they needed convincing; so we worked closely with Steve, put him in the costume, and pretty much just had him adlib a bunch of lines in a variety of Captain America situations. We once filmed him climbing a tree to rescue some kid’s cat. The studios perked up pretty fast after that and they called him in to audition about 15 times and finally gave us the green light. Steve handled it all with good humor; and to be perfectly honest, it was when we put him in his Captain America costume that sealed the deal.”

And his Captain America physique.

“Did you know that there are a lot of fans who call you Dorito?”

“I’m a Dorito?” He doesn’t really know what to make of that comparison.

“Yeah, perfect shoulder to hip ratio; think of an inverted triangle.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that was just a lot of time in the gym, working about four months before principle photography,” Steve said, chuckling softly. “I had three trainers, four stunt choreographers, two dance teachers—“

“Dance teachers? Was there a Captain America song and dance number?” I said, laughing.

[Edit: Apparently, I should probably watch the movies as there was a song and dance number in the first Captain America movie.]

“No, well yes there was, but no, not for that, I mean Captain America is a graceful fighter whereas Steve Rogers is kind of a klutz; the dance teachers really helped me with the rhythm of the fight moves and to look really fluid and confident.”

“So what kind of dances did Steve Rogers learn?”

“Ballet and Salsa.”

“Would you like to show off some of your moves?”

Steve laughed. “No. Well, maybe…for the right partner.”

***

After eight consecutive movies as Captain America, Steve finally hung up the shield (and handed the role of Captain America off to close friend Sam Wilson who played sidekick Falcon in the series) and took a yearlong break where he fell off the Hollywood radar.

“What did you do?”

Steve looked thoughtful, his hands sliding into the pockets of his khaki pants, letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t really know if I want to say. I’m afraid that I’ll just come off as pretentious and self-serving.”

“Did you go soul searching in a monastery in Timbuktu or something?”

He grinned, giving a sidelong glance. “Sure, something like that.”

Steve promised to tell me later, off-the-record, and asked that I not print his answer.

[Edit: He did, and no, I’m not going to say. Though, I will add that it wasn’t pretentious or self-serving and it only added to my admiration of him.]

“So what was it like when you returned to Hollywood?”

“I think my agent was really glad,” he said, smiling widely. “And she gave me a stack of scripts and set up a lot of meetings with producers and studio executives; but I wanted to take a break from working on big movies. I wanted to go back to my indie movie roots.”

“How did you come about getting the role of the hearing-impaired painter?”

“Maria [Hill] slipped it into the stack of scripts. She knew what I wanted; knew that I was in a position to put my name on a movie and help them get financing. Really, it was a personal project. I really liked the writer [Wanda Maximoff] and the director [Natasha Romanoff]. I was friendly with their producer, Alexander [Pierce] and I called him about the project. We met and talked about it at his house; and I jumped at the chance to play the character.”

“What was the hardest part about playing the role?”

“Learning how to paint,” he said, grinning. “And it’s now one of my favorite hobbies. I’m not great at it, but I like to dabble.”

[Edit: Two days after our interview, Steve invited me to his Brooklyn apartment to show me several of his art pieces; he admitted that he has shown at a local art gallery under a pseudonym.]

***

Steve knew every hole-in-the-wall diner or restaurant in Brooklyn.

“I go to enough fancy places for work, which is fine, but I’m never really comfortable in a place like that; when it’s just me and my friends, we stay in the neighborhood and go to mom-and-pop places like we used to when we were younger.”

Unlike many Hollywood A-Listers, Steve doesn’t travel with an entourage, but has a scarily efficient and intimidatingly gorgeous personal assistant, Peggy Carter, his partner-in-crime from their days at Julliard; he stayed in touch with his neighborhood friends and has the keen ability to put on a hat and blend in with the locals.

“Even if they do recognize me, no one actually comes up to me or makes a big deal about it,” he said, shrugging. “I think that’s why I like living here; I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Sure, a kid from Brooklyn with an Oscar nomination and an earning potential around $15 million per film.

“Yeah, it’s always nice to be recognized for your work by your peers,” he said, smiling kindly. “And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to win. But at the end of the day, it’s one more movie under my belt, one more job that I think I did something good in, and one more step to my next project.”

“That’s kind of very humble pie – are you being real with me?”

“I’d say what you see is what you get, maybe part of that is true, but no one is ever going to really know so why try to defend it?” He said, his blue eyes bright with mischief. “I know people think I’m a throwback to the old days – whatever that means – or they think I’m vanilla and boring. I’m okay with that.”

[Edit: There is absolutely NOTHING boring about Steve Rogers.]

***

“I used to get beat up here a lot,” Steve said, pointing out an alley as we walked towards Prospect Park. “Got beat up here…yup, I’m pretty sure I got beat up there.”

“Do you just like getting punched or something?”

Steve laughed. “I don’t like bullies; but I was just a little over five-feet tall and weighed maybe 90 pounds. I got into a few scraps, standing up to guys who thought they could get away with it just because they were bigger. Sure, I probably landed in the ER a few times and scared my ma, but I always did it standing up.”

That sense of justice never left him; he was able to channel those feelings as Captain America in a cathartic manner, shedding some of the anger that was inside of him, growing up poor and angry.

“If I hadn’t caught on to acting, I’d probably be a masked vigilante,” he joked, looking sly. “Maybe don’t print that because if Peggy and Nick [Fury, his publicist] found out, they’ll give me an earful.”

[Edit: They did.]

All joking aside, I got to see Steve in action once we made our way into Prospect Park. There was a small group of people, a young woman on a bullhorn trying to build enthusiasm from the other 20-something hipsters surrounding her. They held a dozen handmade signs in their hands. There was a lot of glitter.

Steve was in raptures.

_Why Can’t I Be Equal, Too?_

_If God Hates Gays, Then Why Are Gays So Cute?_

_Legalize Love_

_Marriage Equality_

_Keep Calm and Fuck Homophobia_

Steve walked towards the group, listening intently, and talking to the people standing near him. He was asking about their cause and what they were rallying for or against.

“They’re protesting a Tea Party event on the other side of the park,” he said, walking back towards me. “I’m going to join them.”

“Are you kidding? We’re doing an interview—“

“I know, and I don’t expect you to join in,” he said, seriously. “There’s a Starbucks right there. I’ll buy you something to drink and if you’ll just wait an hour or two, I’ll be back and finish the interview.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“They’re going to let me hold a sign,” Steve said, excitedly. “I’m going to see if I can hold the ‘Keep Calm and Fuck Homophobia’ one.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“That’s great,” he said, blue eyes twinkling with absolute glee. “You won’t regret this.”

Famous last words.

We were arrested with the other 23 protestors for rallying without a permit and disrupting a political fundraiser.

***

“Peggy and Maria and Nick are going to yell at me,” Steve bemoaned, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Dude, who cares about them! When this hits the tabloids and the Oscar people find out, there goes your chance,” I said, sitting on the narrow bench and leaning back against the cement wall.

“Don’t worry, I called my lawyer, he’ll bail us both out in an hour.”

[Edit: Steve and I have our court appearance in three months. I’m making Steve pay for my legal fees.]

***

Standing outside the Brooklyn Precinct, Steve and I shook hands. Steve’s lawyer, a slick Manhattan guy with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, “call me Ironman, Barnesy,” handed me his business card and slapped me on the back before he ducked into a black limousine.

“Your lawyer has a limo. I think you’re paying him too much.”

Steve laughed. “He’s Tony Stark. You know, his family owns pretty much all of New York City.”

Tony Stark, who had a million dollar retainer, and represented the Saudi royal family’s interests in New York City, international movie star Steve Rogers, and now me.

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” he said, unwaveringly, echoes of Captain America in his tone. “I take full responsibility and will accept the consequences. But Tony is a total shark; he’ll make sure it won’t go on your permanent record.”

I laughed at him.

“Hey, Buck, can I get your number?”

Sure, why the hell not. We exchanged phone numbers.

Steve smiled, his cheeks flushing. “I’ll text you.”

***

Two days later, I received a text from Steve Rogers inviting me to his gorgeous Brooklyn penthouse condo overlooking the East River, where he showed me his etchings.   


End file.
